Deciding Factors
by giraffelove92
Summary: Bonnie is having a terrible day: detention, broken heel, spilled coffee, cracked windshield...the whole shebang. You can imagine her displeasure when she spots a certain snarky Original on her front porch. "No need to be so prickly, little witch. I'm only here to talk." Kennett three-shot. Smut.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Kennett story. As always, reviews are appreciated. There will be smut in chapters two and three: just a warning. Hope you enjoy!**

**I do not own anything related to TVD. Unfortunately.**

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Bonnie was having a terrible day. Her history professor sent her to the principal's office because she had humiliated him in front of the entire class (it wasn't her fault she was smarter than he was!), she was torn between a bickering Elena and Caroline, she'd gotten a C on a last-minute research paper, and she had spilled coffee on the front of her leather jacket.

Driving home, she huffed when a rock flew up and cracked her windshield.

Getting out of her car in her driveway, she screamed in frustration when the heel on one of her ankle boots snapped. Those were brand new!

You can only imagine her displeasure when she spotted a certain snarky Original standing on her front porch.

Apparently her day _could_ indeed get worse.

Pulling off her heels and grabbing her backpack out of the backseat of her little Prius, she marched barefoot up the front steps, refusing to look at him as she made a beeline for the door.

"What do you want, Kol?" she asked bluntly, fumbling with her keys. "I am _not_ in the mood for whatever obnoxious comments you might have."

"Bad day?" he drawled, a lazy smile forming on his face.

"Yes, and if you so much as look at me the wrong way I will give you the mother of all headaches." She jammed her key into the lock and twisted with more force than was necessary.

"Ouch," he winced. "No need to be so prickly, little witch. I'm only here to talk."

"Talk?" she asked suspiciously, hovering in the doorway to her home. On second thought, she stepped inside to safety – just in case he was planning something horrible. She wouldn't put it past him. The second-youngest Original sibling was notoriously volatile and vicious, mysterious and unpredictable. Even Klaus was wary of him, and anyone that made Klaus nervous was not someone to be trifled with. "What could we possibly have to talk about?"

He tilted his head, considering her. She resisted the urge to squirm under his dark gaze. She was surprised when he didn't ask to be invited in; then again, he probably knew she would refuse.

"Silas."

She sucked in a breath. She _really_ didn't want to talk about Silas.

Pursing her lips, she took a moment to observe him as he observed her in turn. His eyes were so dark brown as to almost be black, and though he appeared outwardly calm his dark orbs glittered with something…she couldn't quite put a finger on it; perhaps mischievousness, but something much more sinister that had her back up. His wide shoulders were relaxed, his hands were in the pockets of his dark blue jeans, and his head remained tilted, watching her. His expression was unreadable. He was quite dashing, she admitted to herself grudgingly; he had a handsome face, thick unruly hair and was obviously very fit – if the muscles bunched below the sleeve of his short-sleeved t-shirt were anything to go by. She noticed that he was significantly tanner than the rest of his siblings, and for some reason her gaze was drawn to the slightly paler smooth skin of the inside of his forearms, the tensing of the muscles and veins there the only sign of his anxiety.

_She decided she liked his arms and the turn of his wrists,_ dusted in sun-bleached golden hair, and knew that the hands in his pockets were probably strong and wide-palmed. She had a weird thing for hands; nice hands were sexy on a man. They could also tell you a lot about a person: were they a nail-biter? Did they have calluses from working outside or playing the guitar? Were they the smooth manicured hands of a pampered individual?

She schooled her face into a neutral expression (little did she know that her face was an open book to him; unbeknown to her she was terrible at concealing her true feelings). "What about Silas?" she asked dubiously. She had to admit she was a little bit curious about what he'd have to say concerning the ancient immortal she intended to raise from the dead. Nothing could change her mind, of course. But inquiring minds did like to know…

He smirked. "You haven't really done your research, have you, little witch?"

The pet name irritated her. Her jaw clenched. "Shane has told me everything I need to know."

"Your beloved Professor Shane in hopelessly deluded," he scoffed. "And I figured you were the type that would do your own digging."

"I trust Shane."

He shook his head irately. For some reason his disappointment made her feel smaller, shallower. Why did she care what he thought? She refused to let him make her feel like a silly, stupid little girl.

"You know, Miss Bennett, I spent much of my immortal life here on earth in the company of witches." Her eyebrows shot up with skepticism. "Don't look so surprised. I provided them with my protection – and the protection of my entire bloodline – in exchange for full access to their witchy little powers," he said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to gesture at her. She'd been right about his hands – they were beautiful.

_She decided she liked his hands._ She wondered what they would feel like…

No! Absolutely not!

"I find it hard to believe that Kol Mikaelson, almighty powerful Original and sadistic vampire extraordinaire, would stoop to running with witches," she said haughtily. "And there's no chance in hell they would allow you to use them in that way."

He seemed pleased at her description of him. "I used them, and they used me," he replied nonchalantly. "That's how the world works, darling. Having an Original on their side meant that no other vampire could harm them; my protection made them untouchable. And witches make powerful allies. They are not to be underestimated; the other members of my family, Elijah perhaps the exception, have never realized this. But even Elijah looks upon them as tools to be used at his disposal."

"And you don't?" she asked incredulously, rolling her eyes. "I suppose you ask them politely for their help and friendship?" Her words were laced heavily with sarcasm.

His eyebrows rose and he smiled. "Precisely." She scoffed. "We hardly make each other friendship bracelets and sing songs around a campfire, but there were a handful of select extraordinary witches that I can honestly claim to have enjoyed sharing company with. Contrary to what you might think, I hold witches in very high esteem. I would be a fool to think otherwise," he said slyly.

The appraising sweep of his eyes down her figure and back up made her shudder. His gaze was suddenly hot when his eyes met hers, but it was gone as soon as it appeared, his eyes once again turning to cool, sparkling obsidian. She thought, for a moment, that she could detect a hint of softness among the cruelty in his smoldering gaze, but she couldn't make sense of it and chose not to look too hard in case she were to get lost in his hypnotizing stare.

_She decided she liked his eyes._ They intrigued her, appealed to the inquisitive side of her mind. She wanted to reach through them and yank at his soul until she had thoroughly dissected it and it lay eviscerated and bare to her gaze.

He fascinated her.

"China, Aboriginal Australia, Africa, Haiti, New Orleans – all of these covens were so very different. However, all of the witches I met had one thing in common," he continued. "They always maintained a healthy skepticism. Trust does not come easily, or even naturally, to witches. I'm willing to bet you are no exception, considering the angry glare you've seen fit to grace me with since I've been here." That teasing light came back into his eyes again, his voice holding a gentle jest.

_She decided she liked the lilt of his voice:_ a rich cadence not specific to any place she could put her finger on. It added to the powerful, mysterious aura that surrounded him.

"I'm suspicious of vampires in general," she countered, sniffing in disdain. "Especially unpredictable, infamously malicious vampires with a nasty temper and a lust for violence and blood that rivals that of anyone else I've ever heard of."

The wicked grin that flashed across his face made her heartbeat quicken. An unfamiliar feeling settled low in her stomach.

Desire.

"Ah…my reputation precedes me," he said, his tone almost gleeful. He waved it away. "Regardless of your distrust – and obvious dislike, though I'm certain I could change your mind if you let me in," he growled, his eyes taking on a feral gleam as they once again shamelessly perused her form – the sudden heat between them had her flushing, " – of me, it seems imprudent of you to trust someone so easily simply because they _aren't_ a vampire."

"Shane is a good man."

He snorted. "You seem to be under the impression that 'good' is synonymous with 'human.' You are mistaken – human beings are capable of the same monstrosities that vampires are. And they can't even claim the excuse that we can: we are naturally monsters to begin with. Our abhorrent behavior is to be expected. Humans have no good explanation for such behavior."

_She decided she liked his logic,_ though she would never admit that to him, or to anyone, for that matter. He had a sound mind and appealed to her rational side, and she could respect that. It was a rare occurrence to find a person that she could connect with intellectually – even her friends were unable to rise to her level. It was incredibly frustrating at times, and it made her feel alone more often than not. The fact that she felt a sense of camaraderie with the ancient vampire before her disturbed her; maybe she was lonelier than she first thought. She would have to work on that.

She frowned at him, remaining silent. She really didn't have anything to say in response – he was right on all counts. Perhaps she too easily trusted humans and dismissed their atrocities more readily than she would those of a vampire.

She knew he could sense his triumph, but neglected to gloat, which made her feel a little bit better about it. The last thing she needed right now was an overly proud vampire crowing about his victory on her porch. She got the sense that he knew it would sting her pride and put her guard back up, so he was resisting the urge to shove it in her face.

"I brought something for you to take a look at." He moved to grab something that rested on the porch rail; she hadn't noticed it before. To her great surprise, it was a grimoire. A very _old_ grimoire, if she were to take a guess.

"Where did you get that?" she asked accusingly, her voice harsh. What witch had he killed to acquire such an ancient text?

He chuckled. "So little faith in me, Miss Bennett," he said amusedly. "I didn't _steal _it. It belonged to a witch I was…familiar…with in Italy during the Renaissance." The way the word _familiar_ rolled off his tongue and the smirk and raised eyebrows that accompanied it made it apparent that they'd been more than _familiar._

She shuddered. What kind of witch would let this creature touch her?

Then again, looking at him, she realized it was not so far fetched. He was simply gorgeous, with his face and body and hair and skin and his _beautiful_ hands.

_She decided she liked the cleft in his chin._ She longed to dip her thumb into it.

"How did you come to own it?" she asked suspiciously. She still wasn't sure he wasn't lying. No witch just gave her grimoire to a vampire willingly. It was unheard of.

"She gave it to me," he said matter-of-factly, shrugging.

Bonnie snorted. As if. "Right. And why on earth would she do that?" Her voice was rife with skepticism.

He stared her in the eye, his face smooth and unreadable. "Because it once belonged to my mother."

She inhaled sharply. "Oh."

Really? _Oh?_ That's all she could come up with? Come on. She was better than this.

"Yes, 'oh,'" he replied, amused with her wide-eyed expression and lack of intelligent speech. "I let her keep it until her natural death in 1542 at the ripe old age of eighty-four. She left it to me before she passed."

"Huh," she replied.

"You doubt me?"

"No," she said, caught off guard by the revelation. "I just find your apparent relationship with witches fascinating. I've never heard of witches working so diligently with vampires before."

Kol smiled, pleased with the statement. "Before I was daggered in 1912 I was famous for it. No one messed with covens and witches under my protection. Unfortunately many of those relationships faded with my absence; I have already started to rekindle them since my return," he said sincerely. "Starting, I hope, with you."

He offered her the old grimoire; after a quick hesitation she took it, cradling it gently in her hands. She looked down at it in wonder, trailing her fingers across the pages in a loving caress. She could feel the power humming against her palm. A thousand years of memories and the imprint of hundreds of witches at her fingertips.

"Why give this to me?" she inquired quietly, confusedly. "You don't even know me."

"Oh, I eventually plan on changing that," he said darkly, the tone of his voice effectively making her knees go weak. He continued, "You're a very powerful witch, Miss Bennett. I've become attuned to that sort of power over the years; looked for it, even. I could feel it radiating off of you from a hundred feet away. I could use an ally like you by my side in the coming years. In turn, I can offer you things."

"What kinds of things?" she asked warily; however, she could not keep the curiosity out of her voice. It would be nice to have something in return for her powers; she'd never gotten so much as a "thank you" from her friends, even when she had put her life on the line for them. Even when Grams had died for them. The idea of protection and some sort of compensation for her services appealed to her.

"Protection, to start with," he began casually, "against vampires, werewolves, humans, and other witches. I have the ability to keep you, and any family you might have, safe; I could ensure that generations of your family line will remain unharmed. Secondly, access to countless grimoires I've collected over the years – most were obtained through perfectly honorable means, I promise – and the spells that they contain. Contacts: I know by now you must desperately long for witch company, and it seems there is none to be found in Mystic Falls. I can introduce you to others of your kind, witches you can learn from. And witches who can extend your life," he finished, tilting his head.

"Extend my life?" she asked unbelievingly.

"Indeed," he replied, smirking. "I knew a witch once that died when she was two-hundred and three years old. That was an extreme case, of course; but I could guarantee you'd live well into your hundreds. You'd spend years looking young and just as stunningly beautiful as you are now," he said with a grin.

She tried to ignore the compliment, but it made butterflies flutter in her stomach. She narrowed her eyes, squinting at him, searching for any hint of malice and ill intention in his face. When she found none, she did something she'd never thought she'd do in a thousand years.

"Would you like to come inside?"


	2. Chapter 2

**So I lied…there is no smut in this chapter; but chapter 3 will be posted very soon, and there will be plenty of it. The conversation in this chapter is longer than I initially thought it would be, but the dialogue establishes a pretty good basis for their newfound fragile and shaky relationship. So it worked out well (I hope). Feedback would be appreciated.**

**Kol is a little OOC in this story – he's reasonable and polite when dealing with Bonnie, when there wasn't even a glimpse of those traits in TVD (except perhaps when he was talking with Elena in her home). It seems to me that Silas is the only thing he really fears – and fear can make you compromise. But hey, Kol is known to be extremely unpredictable, so who knows what he's capable of. I enjoy experimenting with the characters. Let me know what you think! **

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"_Would you like to come inside?"_

Kol was unable to hide the shock that flashed across his face. She looked just as surprised as he was that she'd extended an invitation into her home.

An invitation from Bonnie Bennett was the _last_ thing he'd expected.

Brave of her.

But foolish.

He wanted to smirk in triumph, but turned it into a mild smile. It wouldn't pay to scare her off now, not when he'd gotten a foot in the door with her trust, so to speak. He would be patient. Patience had never been his strong suit – when he felt, he acted; when he wanted something, he took it – but he would make a serious effort with the little witch. She could be a powerful ally, a valuable asset to him in the years to come. And he had discovered that witches were true on their word: if he upheld his end of the deal, so would they. The witches he had gathered to his side over the centuries had been almost loyal to a fault. Once he had their allegiance – he'd have to give them good reasons, of course, but that wasn't hard – they were his forever. He intended to add the illustrious Miss Bennett to his long list.

It didn't hurt that she was _hot_, either. He would, sooner or later, add her to his list of conquests. It would take some serious charm and finagling to work his way into her bed, but something told him she would be well worth it.

"Don't mind if I do," he accepted graciously, giving her a small bow. She moved aside, and he stepped into her home, crossing a literal and figurative threshold. Step one: completed. "You won't regret it, I promise."

"I already do," she muttered, sighing.

"I've learned from experience that regret gets you nowhere, Miss Bennett. You learn from your mistakes, apply them to the present, and look forward to the future. Dwelling on the past only serves to make one miserable." He said it lightly, but this tidbit of advice he had given was sincere.

She cocked her head, considering his words, but did not reply. She simply led him further into her home.

She motioned for him to have a seat at the kitchen table, placing the grimoire in front of him as she moved into the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Lemonade? Water?" she asked, moving efficiently to gather some things from the pantry.

"B positive?" he jested, grinning at her. She glared back. "Just kidding, witchy. Lemonade sounds delicious, thank you."

He could tell she was having trouble adjusting to his politeness. He was anything but polite, but the occasion demanded it. _She _demanded it.

He watched her every movement with hooded eyes. She was graceful even under pressure. The only signs she was uncomfortable in his presence were her pursed lips and eyes that darted to where he was sitting every now and then.

_He decided he liked her eyes._ They were clear and bluish-green, like polished sea glass, and contrasted starkly with her caramel skin and dark hair. He wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through her shiny tresses. He pushed it out of his mind; there would be time for that later, he thought with anticipation. Bennett witches were always worth the wait.

When she had fixed them both tall glasses of lemonade she sat down across from him, keeping a comfortable distance between the two. She was afraid of him…good. Though he suspected that she was attracted to him as well – her heartbeat maintained a steady but rapid pace, pounding against her chest. He took a quick moment to admire said chest, careful not to stare too long. Her breasts were perfectly perky, put on display by her revealing V-neck tank top; the skin between them was tantalizing, shining with a thin layer of sweat caused by a combination of the August heat and the anxiety as a result of their proximity to each other.

_He decided he liked her breasts. _He wanted to dip his tongue between them and beyond, tasting every inch of her skin.

Later. That would come later, he promised himself.

He took a swig of his lemonade, the tart, icy cold drink stimulating his taste buds and effectively dispelling the summer heat that had settled over his body. He made a noise of approval in his throat, feeling refreshed.

"This is good," he praised simply, and was pleased with her corresponding blush. "Do you have any sage to burn?" he inquired.

She waved the notion away. "I put a spell on the house, shielding it from unwelcome listening ears; one can never be too careful in this town. We can speak plainly. So," she continued, "what is this nonsense about Silas you're insisting upon?" She shrugged off her leather jacket and draped it over the back of her chair, revealing slim, toned shoulders and arms and the smooth curve of her throat.

_He decided he liked her neck._ And what a neck it was! His gums itched as he resisted the urge to launch himself forward and sink his fangs into the pulsing artery in her sleek throat.

_Later._ He would have her begging for him to feed on her before he was finished. He just had to be patient.

"It's hardly nonsense," he countered calmly. "Raising Silas will release hell on earth."

She shook her head. "Shane would have told me something like that. Despite your earlier words, I trust him. He would have mentioned a risk of that magnitude."

Kol licked his lips. What he was about to say risked angering her. "You trust him," he said softly, "because he gave you your magic back."

She gasped, her pretty eyes widening in shock. "How could you possibly know that?" she demanded. He had expected her to deny it vehemently, and was surprised when she did not.

"You reek of it, darling," he said lowly, leaning forward across the table and inhaling deeply. She leaned away from him, her eyes full of emotion and uncertainty. He would have to reassure her somehow, but simultaneously needed to end her attachment to this annoying _Professor Shane._

"One of the witches I ran with in Haiti practiced Expression," he continued, leaning back to make her feel more comfortable. "It's effective, but also very dangerous. However, I would not recommend using it for a long period of time."

"And why is that?" she asked. She gulped. He could smell her apprehension. "What happened to your witch in Haiti?"

He paused for a moment, memories that he'd suppressed for years flooding back into his brain. "It destroyed him," he stated gently. "It drove him mad. His brain began to rot under the pressure, and, by extension, his body." He paused. He hated himself for his weakness, but he could not talk about Mondi without feeling intense regret. Almost sadness. The giant, dark skinned Haitian man had been the closest thing to a friend Kol had ever had. They'd worked well together, and had also enjoyed each other's company.

He cleared his throat. This was the only emotion he would _ever_ let her see from him. "In the end, he begged me to kill him. So I put an end to his suffering. It was…difficult, to say the least. He was my friend. A loyal, good man. I like to think he made me better, brought out the good in me. That was a weak time for me; one that has long since passed," he finished. He could hear the roughness in his own voice.

He hated the compassion he saw in her eyes. It simply would not do – having her _pity_ him like he was some goddamn pathetic human. And yet he couldn't bring himself to ruin it: A) because he didn't want to spoil any ground he had covered in this newfound tenuous relationship, and B) because he found that he preferred her face the way it was now, the skin around her eyes and mouth no longer pulled tight into hard lines but relaxed instead, her green orbs soft and no longer glittering with distrust. He savored it, knowing that it was only temporary; a witch – a _woman_ – such as Bonnie Bennett would not be swayed so easily…especially by the likes of him.

_He decided he liked her stubbornness and spunk…and yet was able to retain her compassionate nature._ She was not yet completely jaded, but was on her way to becoming so. Still, her bleeding heart was apparent to him, even if she hid it well. He'd learned long ago to spot these types of people, simply because they tended to be easy to take advantage of. This young witch was different, though – her empathy did not make her weak, or blind to the truth, because it was tempered by an even judgment (to a fault – so much so that people labeled her as "judgmental"), an unparalleled levelheadedness (although it had unfortunately been shaken with the loss of the spirits and natural magic and the influence of Shane), a sound rational mind, and a thirst for justice (though she would someday have to come to terms with the truth that the world was not black and white, and justice was hard to apply to shades of gray).

"But I will not attempt to dissuade you from practicing Expression," he started again, his voice reverting to its neutral nonchalant cadence. "It is dark magic, yes, and I believe, and have been told by many witches, that it is an abomination of nature that far surpasses that of vampires' existence." Her eyes started to become hard again. "However, it has its uses, and I know how hard it is to lose contact with the spirits of nature – not from personal experience, obviously, but through watching others. It tears at a witch's soul. But in the end it is something that one can recover from, maybe even get back, whereas Expression will eventually cause damage that is irreversible. It rips one's spirit apart, disembowels it until there is nothing left of it." His words were sad, but his gaze remained firmly locked on hers, willing her to understand.

He saw his words sink in, saw the considering look in her eyes and the fear that came with it. It was a relief to find that she was open to his suggestions, at least a little bit; he had been certain she would spit the information back in his face. He had wedged a chisel into a crack in her mind – now it was only a matter of hammering it in without loosing purchase.

"I know three accomplished witches, all of whom are still alive, that have succeeded in helping others of their kind get their powers back; powers that had been lost to them for a very long time. Without Expression," he said slowly, cautiously. Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and clear.

"But that is perhaps a discussion for another time," he added, knowing she was confused and bordering on panicked as her heart hammered in her chest. "If and when you get to a point where you think you might want to reconnect with the spirits of nature, the offer remains open. In the mean time, I urge you, as one who has seen its destruction, to be wary and practice Expression with caution. You will know when you start to go mad; it may take years, but you can be sure that it _will_ happen. There are no exceptions to the rules of nature, Miss Bennett."

"But there are always exceptions," she blurted out. She was grasping at straws, the idealism of her newfound magic slipping through her fingers.

He cocked his head, suddenly feeling sorry for this girl. Because that's all she really was – a girl. Kol had lived for so long he'd forgotten what it was like to be young. Young and vulnerable and insecure. Her lovely eyes searched his, flickering wildly, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation.

He shrugged, unable, and unwilling, to give her the lie that she needed. "Not really. Not _completely,_ anyway. My siblings and I are some of the greatest exceptions ever _created_. We defy the laws of nature. And yet we can still be killed – by a powerful witch, or a white oak stake. You see, rules have a funny way of looping back around – they simply refuse to be entirely broken. Curious, isn't it?"

She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. "Give it some time to sink in, darling. Otherwise your head will explode," he drawled, smirking. The time for sensitivity and tender words of advice was over. "We still have the issue of Silas to discuss."

The pretty witch stiffened. "I don't know what you think you could say to change my mind, but it won't work. I'm still working with Professor Shane to raise Silas from the dead. This hell on earth thing you speak of…it's an old wives' tale. I'm amazed that a rational mind like yours would put any stock in it."

He paused to digest the quick and unintentional compliment she had given, and then, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward to look her intently in the eye, he spoke.

"Old wives' tales exist for a reason, little witch. Anyone who dismisses such things because they aren't 'rational' doesn't make them very rational at all. It just makes them a fool," he stated bluntly, his eyes narrowed and honed in on hers. "People nowadays…they have no faith. You…_children,_" he said with some disdain, "…have lost sight of the truth. You don't hold onto any of your history. You believe only when you see, and see only what you wish to believe.

"And you, Miss Bennett: I have to say I am astounded by your ignorance. I can't fault you for it, of course," he added, "because you have had essentially no exposure to witchcraft; you've learned it all yourself. I can admire that. However, your lack of knowledge of the basic lore that comes with being a witch has made you easy prey. This is a tragedy I intend to amend."

Although his words had offended her, Kol could see the moment when her curiosity overtook her anger. Step two: completed.

_He decided he liked her inquisitive nature;_ it piqued his interest. Annoying, certainly, but refreshing. No one would ever claim that Bonnie Bennett was boring.

"Easy prey?" she asked, prickling under the criticism. "I am more than capable of defending myself. And those close to me."

"Perhaps physically," he countered, "but mentally you are ripe for the plucking. Your estimable professor has used your lack of a proper witchy education against you. He's pulled a hood over your eyes, blinded you to all else that moves." Her eyes were sharp. He definitely had her attention now. "If you'd grown up in a coven under the tutelage of witches you'd have run at the first mention of the name Silas. Alas, you were not, so you do not understand the gravity of the situation."

"Say there is some truth to what you claim," she said haltingly, her distrustful eyes trained on his. But he'd found proper leverage in the crack – and had begun to hammer in the wedge. "What exactly are we talking about here?"

He smiled grimly and slid his mother's grimoire across the table. "Open it up to the last two pages," he demanded. "Let's put it this way, little witch," he continued, the serious tone in his voice catching her interest. "Silas makes me and my siblings look mild. Envision Niklaus as a kitten," he said, grinning, and she snorted, amused at the comparison. "Silas is a tiger."

Her eyebrows shot up and her lips quirked, still entertained by the thought of the great hybrid as a kitten. "So Silas is supposedly more powerful than the Original vampires? How is that possible?"

"He was a witch before he became a vampire. Imagine all of that power rolled into one strange combination of the two; trapped in a tomb for two thousand years," he answered. "I was asleep in a coffin for a hundred years, and that was bad enough…I can't possibly imagine what it would feel like to be in that dream-like state for two millennia."

"You think he'll be angry." It was not a question. She absently flipped to the back pages of the ancient text at her fingertips.

He nodded. "I think he'll be downright destructive. He's the oldest immortal being in the world, Miss Bennett; and undoubtedly the most powerful. It'll be like pulling the muzzle off of a rabid dog and then setting it loose in a chicken coop. No one will be immune. And then when he drops the Veil, all hell will break loose. I personally have many people from my past that I wish to _stay_ dead."

She smirked. _He decided he liked the crookedness of her smile._ "Yeah, well, I can see how being a murderous vampire for a thousand years could rack up a pretty long list of enemies."

"I knew you'd understand," he said jokingly, shrugging. "But tell me this, Miss Bennett," he inquired quietly, and she leaned forward in her chair. "What do you think will happen when all of the supernatural beings from the past two thousand years are raised from the dead?"

Realization dawned in her eyes. "Hell on earth," she mumbled. "That's what you meant, wasn't it? The raising of the dead?"

"Let's just say I don't think over-population will be the only problem we face," he said humorously, leaning back in his chair. "And I happen to like earth just the way it is. Have you found the page you're looking for?"

She looked down, frowning. "I think so."

"I can translate for you, if you like," he offered, "but it would just be reiterating all I've told you. I think the illustrations are quite telling, however. Pictures tend to get the point across very clearly; they succeed where words often fail."

He'd studied those two pages many times. The images drawn were crude, but effective: a horrible, hideous creature causing destruction and wreaking all sorts of havoc on the world. The drawings chilled him. Silas was the only entity in existence that made Kol afraid.

He saw her eyes slowly widen as she perused the pages dedicated to Silas. "I've never seen drawings like this before," she mumbled, drinking it in. Her eyes were hungry; hungry for knowledge that she'd never had access to before. Perhaps, if he was feeling generous (a feeling she seemed to evoke in him without trying, irritatingly enough), he would loan her the grimoire, allow her to study the giant, ancient text and learn things that were long overdue.

"And you likely never will again," he stated simply. "But the message is clear, and the witches feel strongly enough about it that the story of Silas has never been lost or diluted in witching communities. I'm sure if your grandmother had had a chance, she would have clued you in on that little tidbit of information." He noticed the shadow that passed over her face, the sadness that flashed in her eyes, clouding them for a moment. "Shane was lucky to have found you: no witch in his or her right mind would help him, knowing the repercussions. I tell you all this because every witch I've ever known – _every witch – _has taken the legend of Silas seriously. And every single one would insist on him remaining right where he is.

"Trust me, Bonnie: some things are better left buried."

_He decided he liked the feel of her name rolling off his tongue._ It was the first time he'd used her given name, and her head snapped back up. Blue-green eyes peered up through a fringe of dark lashes.

He tapped his finger rapidly against the table when she did not speak. That was okay; it was a lot of information to process. He could practically see the gears turn in her head, the hamster struggling to keep up with its wheel. _He decided he liked the way she chewed at her bottom lip when lost in thought._ It was almost…cute.

Finally he broke down, anxious to hear her response. "So? What will it be, Miss Bennett?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay, chapter three! I can't help but feel that I rushed this chapter in a lot of ways, but I was just impatient to get it over with – I've quickly found that posting stories to fanfiction is somewhat addicting…anyone else know what I'm talking about? Let me know what you think and what could be improved on. Enjoy!**

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"_So? What will it be, Miss Bennett?"_

Indeed: what _would_ it be? She chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety getting the better of her. Her brain was overwhelmed.

How could it be that one of the oldest, most despicable (though she had so far not really minded his company, she realized) vampires on earth had been the one to teach her most about herself? She hadn't comprehended the fact that, until now, she knew next to _nothing _about witches. They were her own kind, and she had remained blissfully ignorant of practically all things magic. How could she have allowed herself to be so uninformed?

Bonnie shivered. _This changes everything,_ she thought. Everything she thought she knew had just been ripped away from her and tipped on its head. She groaned, letting her head drop to the table with a loud _thunk._ She honestly didn't care that it made her look pathetic; she _was_ pathetic.

"I'm inclined to believe you," she murmured ruefully into the table, knowing her unintelligible mumble would be heard perfectly by his vampire ears. It was the same as admitting defeat.

Kol chuckled, amused with her grumpiness. _She decided she liked his laugh._ "A wise choice," he said. "Sometimes it pays to be prudent, Miss Bennett…even if you're sometimes the only one."

She tilted her head up to rest her chin on the table, peering curiously at him from beneath her lashes. He had hit the nail on the head with that statement: she was always the sensible one, preaching caution where others (namely all of her friends) rushed blindly into things without considering the consequences. Which is what she had almost done with Professor Shane and raising Silas – she had forgotten how to think for herself.

Kol cocked his head back at her, studying her openly. The late afternoon sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating him and casting the shadows of his face into stark relief. The blond in his hair was suddenly very obvious. She had never really noticed the natural highlights before. _She decided she liked his hair._ She was unable to muster up any shame when she wondered what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

The thought had her mind wandering to images that were much more risqué: his hands skimming over her naked body, his head between her legs, bending her over the kitchen table… The indecency of her traitorous brain made her heart jump.

What an interesting person, this Original; he had succeeded in surprising her several times over the last few minutes – and not unpleasantly, she discovered to her own astonishment. She could see why many witches had joined up with him. He seemed to know how their minds worked; and more importantly, how _her_ mind worked.

"Stop worrying your lip."

The comment caught her off guard. She flushed prettily and released her bottom lip from between her teeth. Her lips were no doubt swollen and red, and his gaze flickered from her eyes to look at them. His expression was unreadable, his face smooth; but his eyes told a different story. They were dark and glittering with desire, like two polished pieces of obsidian set deep within his face.

Her face and neck were hot and her breathing came in short labored breaths. Her heart pounded in her chest; she knew he could hear it, and wondered why he wasn't smirking arrogantly and teasing her about it. Her body was tingling, her nerve endings on fire. How could he make her feel this way with just a look?

Without warning she was pressed up against the wall. There was no space between their bodies; she was acutely aware of every hard ridge of his body – and the impressive bulge that prodded at her stomach. One of his beautiful hands was on the wall next to her head, while the other trailed callused fingers from her jaw to the swell of her breast, barely touching. His face was very close to hers, and she was unable to tear her eyes from his. She was too aroused to be terrified; too hot and bothered to be able to muster the concentration and energy needed to give him an aneurism and defend herself. Her heartbeat pulsed through her veins and caused her head to throb and her vision to go hazy.

He leaned down to nuzzle the skin beneath her ear and inhaled deeply through his nose. She could do nothing but stand, frozen, against the wall. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, and her lips parted as breath whooshed out of her heaving lungs.

"Kol," she managed to croak out, though it sounded more like a plea than the warning it was intended to be.

"Don't lie to yourself, little witchling," he whispered, his breath tickling her ear. "I can smell how much you want me. You smell _delicious."_ He hummed in approval.

_She decided she liked the rumbling sound that came from deep in his chest._ It sent heat straight to her core, and her traitorous body loved it. Liquid pooled between her thighs.

"No," she whimpered, shaking her head. Absolutely not. There was no _way_ she was letting this happen.

She went to push him away but instead ended up clutching his t-shirt; he had ghosted the hand above her breast down her side and gripped her hip – then pulled her body up and out in a way that allowed him to bend his knees and align his pelvis with hers. He ground his bulging erection with a circular motion into the junction between her thighs, and every piece of information she'd ever learned and every memory she'd ever formed flew out of her head. Abruptly she forgot everything; the only thing that occupied her brain was how he felt pressed against her and the sensation of his breath puffing out against her neck.

"This isn't a good idea –" she said between panting breaths – but groaned and grasped his head between her hands when his tongue darted out to lick her neck, right at her pulse point. The thought should have alarmed her, but oddly enough she did not feel afraid of him anymore. Not in the sense that he would hurt her, in any case. The only thing she feared from him now was how he could make her _feel._

_She decided she liked the weight of his body against hers._ Her breasts strained against his hard chest and without thinking she arched her back, pressing them more firmly against him. She felt him shudder in response, and in the back of her mind (she tried to suppress it, she really did, because it wasn't _right,_ it wasn't _allowed_) she was pleased with his involuntary reaction. It dawned on her that she affected him as much as he did her, and it made her feel powerful.

"On the contrary," he murmured between open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone – she instinctively tilted her head – "I think this is an excellent idea. The best one I've had in a while, actually," he purred seductively.

As if to punctuate his words he ground his straining erection against her again, eliciting a moan from between her lips. Bringing his head up he gave her an incredibly sexy version of his infamous smirk before leaning forward to nip at her bottom lip. His eyes remained open and fixed on hers, and she refused to look away; Bonnie Bennett would not back down. She wasn't giving up – she was giving in.

"I'm going to make you come so hard you won't be able to feel your legs," he whispered against her lips, his hot gaze boring into her green eyes, now foggy with desire. "You'll scream my name until your vocal chords give out. I promised you that you wouldn't regret inviting me in…after tonight, you'll never want me to leave," he finished, his own voice hoarse with arousal. The promise made her head spin; part of her hoped his threatening words were genuine. She could feel his need for her against the apex of her thighs, throbbing through the material of his jeans.

"I doubt it," she hissed, narrowing her eyes; she could at least _try_ to regain some semblance of control. "But you can certainly give it your best shot."

The slow smile that spread across his face was absolutely _sinful._

"Is that a challenge, Miss Bennett?" he asked softly, pulling his face back to look at her, her hands sliding down to his neck. One hand palmed her breast, almost lazily, and the other pulled her opposite thigh up around his hips. Pleasure shot down through her toes. "You should know better."

"Well according to you I apparently don't know jack squat," she countered acerbically. She jacked her leg up even higher around his waist and rolled her hips, wanting to punish him. The resulting darkening of his eyes and sharp intake of breath told her she had succeeded.

She might not have the experience he had – not even close – but two could definitely play this game. And she was not the type of woman who backed down so easily. She would make him suffer.

"Then perhaps it's time to expand your horizons. Call it…personal growth, if you will."

Abruptly the world moved around her and air rushed past her and before she knew it she was flat on her back on her bed upstairs, her legs hanging off of the edge. Cool air hit her skin, giving her goosebumps, and she looked down to discover she was naked. She only had one thought:

_WTF?_

Her clothing lay in tatters on the ground.

Damned vampires.

She went to sit up, furious, attempting to shield herself from his hot, wandering gaze. He easily pushed her back down, the hand between her breasts unrelenting but surprisingly gentle. She glowered at him. He smiled wickedly in return.

When she had regained her senses and ability to concentrate – which might be never, considering the way her head was spinning – she was going to make every nerve ending in his head explode.

Huffing, she stopped struggling, but continued to fix him with an indignant glare, her jaw clenching. She knew she was fit and was proud of her body, but the way he looked at her…the intensity of his stare made her uncomfortable, but also desirous; his lips were parted and his gaze was one of pure hunger. Though she was sure he'd had all manner of beautiful women over the centuries, he looked intently at her as if in awe – like she was something totally new. His jaw ticked.

"You are…simply exquisite," he breathed as his eyes perused her naked form. Her eyes widened and she blushed heavily, flattered and utterly stunned.

When he was confident she would not try to bolt, he skimmed his fingers down to grip her thighs, pulling them apart and settling in between them. He was still fully clothed, and the sensation of his jean-clad erection against her exposed genitals had her gasping. Her legs wrapped around him of their own volition, and she rolled her pelvis up in a sinuous motion, desperate to gain more friction. He hissed, gripping her thighs more tightly in his hands. She would have bruises later, but she didn't care, as long as his _incredible_ hands remained on her body.

She wanted him.

"Wanton little minx," he growled, his eyes darkening. It was the last thing he said before his lips swooped down to claim hers.

_She decided she liked his lips._ They were doing untold things to hers, his teeth grazing her swollen bottom lip before he slipped his tongue into her mouth.

Bonnie was in heaven. His kisses were positively _orgasmic._ A thousand years of experience had _definitely _paid off.

She shuddered, thinking of the other erotic things he had undoubtedly mastered.

His hands were everywhere: on her breasts, her thighs, her neck, her hips; every time she got used to the touch of his hands on a part of her body he would jolt her system by moving them to caress something else. It was maddening.

She snuck a hand down to his waistband, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans to slip a hand inside. He wore nothing underneath; her hand met the bare flesh of his cock. She sucked in a breath. It was _glorious;_ long and thick and hard and smooth without being unnaturally monstrous: everything a woman dreamed about being fucked with. He unconsciously bucked against her hand, groaning in pleasure against her jaw when she shamelessly pumped her hand up and down his length.

She guided him to her slick entrance, wanting him lodged inside her, but he drew away, having other ideas. Rolling her nipples between his callused fingers and drawing them to stiff peaks, he slithered down her body, dipping his tongue into her navel before kneeling between her thighs.

She instinctively tried to squeeze her legs shut, uncomfortable with his intentions. She had never done…that. She'd thought about it, yes, but had never trusted anyone enough to allow them to study her womanly parts in such an intimate manner. And she _certainly_ didn't trust Kol Mikaelson. Definitely not.

"No, Kol, I've never –"

The handsome Original did not stand for her rejection; simply pried her thighs apart forcefully and pulled her further off the bed, placing her legs over his shoulders and steadying her hips with his hands.

_She decided she liked his dominant nature;_ even if it annoyed the hell out of her. The baser side of her psyche, the animalistic, sex-driven side that she hadn't discovered until, well, _now,_ begged to be ravished by him.

She trembled when a puff of warm breath hit her center; she cried out when his tongue licked a slow path up her slit and his lips latched over her sensitive clit.

She jolted when his hand came down to join his mouth. One of his fingers worked its way into her snug sheath, tighter still from little use. He groaned.

"You're so tight," he said, his voice husky with arousal; it was unbelievably sexy. "And you taste even better than you smell," he added. "I can't wait to be inside you."

It was absurd how a few words from him could have her quivering with anticipation. She keened when he began to finger her in earnest, plunging one, and then two, of his digits into her wetness at an increasingly impossible speed. His tongue swiped rapidly over her clit, working her into a frenzy. Her hands buried themselves in his hair as she ground her hips brazenly against his face. When he slowed his ministrations, she nearly screamed in frustration.

"Bonnie," he said, his voice soft but commanding. _She decided she liked the roll of her name off his tongue._ "Look at me," he demanded. When she didn't comply, squeezing her eyes shut (she couldn't bring herself to look at him, there, between her legs, doing things to her that she had never let anyone do before; the implications were too much for her brain to handle), he bit her clit gently. She gasped.

"_Look at me."_

Unable to resist him, she opened her eyes and sat up on her elbows to look at him. The sight of him there, with his fingers teasing her entrance and his mouth blowing hot breaths onto her clit, made her shudder involuntarily. The look in his eyes made her breath hitch; never had she seen such intensity, such unrestrained passion, in someone's gaze. It was even more mind-boggling that his focus was entirely on _her,_ Bonnie Bennett – not Elena, not Caroline; she alone filled his sight and mind and caused this physical reaction in him.

She began chanting his name without abandon when he enthusiastically returned to pleasuring her, his hands and mouth driving her mad. Pressure built quickly in her abdomen. Her body was on fire. His digits were pistoning in and out of her with vampire speed. His free hand traveled up to cup her breast, squeezing it and tweaking her nipple with his fingers. When he stopped vibrating his tongue against her clit and closed his lips over the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking hard, she came, her toes curling. She wailed as her body exploded and her juices (she did not have the presence of mind to be embarrassed) gushed out into his mouth and covering his chin.

Bonnie only realized that he had bitten the inside of her thigh until he began taking long pulls of her blood into his mouth. The feeling made her head spin and drew out her orgasm, bursts of light flashing in her vision. The lustful whine that originated in her throat was new to her, spun from desire. Strangely enough the sharp sting of his fangs lodged in the flesh of her thigh did not hurt liked she'd thought it would; it only caused pleasure to throb in her groin.

_She decided she liked his vampire visage._ When he was finished he withdrew his fangs and let his face return to normal, lapping at the bloody punctures he'd made until they began to clot. He hummed in contentment and licked his bloodstained lips. A drop of the scarlet liquid remained caught in the corner of his mouth. The carmine color of her life force entranced her, and without thinking she brought her hand down to wipe it away.

"You bit me," she stated indignantly, her voice filled with wonder.

He chuckled. "I did," he replied without remorse. His eyes danced.

He stood swiftly, her legs falling from his shoulders to hang limply off the bed. She used this newfound space as an opportunity to scoot up onto the bed; she was not yet sure if it was to get away from him or to make herself more comfortable for what he had in store for her next.

She watched hungrily as he stripped off his clothes, ripping them open, lacking the patience to undress properly. She tried not to gawk at his naked body – his chiseled abs and chest and wide shoulders had her drooling. The impressive organ between his legs jutted proudly out at her, making her shiver and flush with anticipation.

She could stop him now – it was her last chance – but found, to her amazement, that she did not want to.

She was too far gone, lost in her own pleasure.

Her inspection of his body was cut short when he abruptly grabbed her body and pushed her back onto the mattress, settling on his knees in between her thighs. He leaned down to kiss her, only for a second – it blew her mind anyway – and, before she knew what was happening, he leaned back, brought her legs to his shoulders, and plunged into her with one quick thrust.

Bonnie gasped in surprise. Her whole body was in shock and she found herself unable to properly breathe. She felt…stuffed. His cock was buried to the hilt in her tight channel and filled her completely, touching places she never knew could be accessed, or wasn't aware existed.

He groaned, letting his head fall back, and she stared at him, unable to tear her eyes from the view. He was beautiful, all sharp lines and hard muscles, his hair and golden skin luminous in the setting sun, his Adam's apple exposed and bobbing as he swallowed.

"I knew you'd feel like this," he said huskily, head falling forward to look at her. For the first time she saw him vulnerable, his eyes dazed with lust and his jaw slack. "Tight and wet and _perfect."_

His hands came to curl around the front of her thighs and gently pulled her so her ass rested more firmly against his thighs. The increased pressure against her womb made her whimper. He stroked his thumb over the sensitive puncture wounds in her inner thigh in a deceptively tender gesture, as if reminding himself of his claim on her…and then pulled out slowly before thrusting back into her with incredible force.

He showed no mercy. He began to pound into her roughly and she couldn't help but wail at the speed of his thrusts. He set a brutally fast pace, his cock driving into her with bruising force, his hips slamming into hers repeatedly.

Through the fog of pleasure she noticed he was panting heavily, his dead lungs heaving with unneeded breaths. He was staring at her lustfully with eyes as black as coal. She inhaled sharply when one of his hands let go of her thigh and seized her breast, his callused thumb rubbing her pebbled nipple. Her hands clenched and unclenched, fisting the comforter on either side of her; she held onto it tightly, seeking any stability she could find as pleasure coursed through her body.

She watched, fascinated, spellbound by the sight of their bodies joining in the most intimate way. Her thighs and his abdomen were covered messily with her fluids, facilitating his momentum as he surged into her tight body. She was embarrassingly wet and could hear the noise her juices made as his cock shoved into her slick channel.

_She decided she liked his cock._ Oh, the things he was doing to her, the sensations he was causing with his hands, his mouth, his hard, thick length. She didn't mind so much that he was completely dominating her body, rutting against her aggressively in a manner that was almost painful; she really didn't want him to stop.

The weight of her impending orgasm settled once more over her womb. He tilted her hips only a fraction, but the new angle allowed his shaft access to her g-spot, and she was seeing stars as he hit it over and over again.

When he reached down to rub her clit with his thumb, she came with a shout, clutching the bedspread, flying apart under his skilled hands and cock. She was shaking all over – her legs trembled and she locked them firmly around his neck, willing them to stop. He continued to thrust, slower now but no less deep, into her, patiently letting her ride the waves of pleasure before resuming his onslaught against her body.

Before she could even catch her breath and descend from the high of her orgasm, she felt herself spinning; he flipped her over onto her stomach as if she was a flimsy piece of paper.

_She decided she liked his strength, _the ease with which he handled her body, like she weighed nothing.

"Kol, what – "

She cried out when he yanked her hips up, ass in the air, and plunged into her pliant, oversensitive body, filling her with his length. She had only one thought as he drove into her from behind:

_Holy FUCK._

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Kol couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so much pleasure. The simple lust he felt for this woman was unrivaled by anything he'd felt in a very long time, if not ever. She aroused feelings that he had forgotten existed. But now was not the time to muse over these stirred emotions; he could do that later.

He let his desire for her overwhelm him; allowed the ache in his loins to rule his body, unable to hold back any longer. He surged into her from behind and began to set a steady pace, hitting her hard and deep. She hiccupped when he pulled her hips back to meet his thrusts halfway, deepening his penetration and the force with which the head of his penis hit her womb.

_He decided he liked her ass. _The curve of her spine was captivating, the sinewy muscles in her back flexing sinuously with every movement. The skin of her buttocks was taut and smooth under his hands. Palming her ass cheeks, he used his thumbs to spread them wide, enthralled with the view of his shaft disappearing into her wet heat.

"Bonnie." Her name was like a fervent prayer on his lips. He whispered it again and again with every thrust of his hips, unable to stop himself. He enjoyed saying her name, rolling it off his tongue slowly as if memorizing the feel and sound of it escaping from his lips. She moaned in response.

The animal in him was surfacing, the monster beginning to show its ugly face; he gave himself the satisfaction of picking up the pace. He tangled a hand in her hair and gently but firmly tugged on it, forcing her to arch her back, the muscles in her shoulders and arms flexed and straining. _Fuck,_ but she was beautiful. She had successfully shocked his system, electrocuting his brain and lighting his body on fire. If he had to compare her to something, anything, it would be lightning; she had struck him and zapped him to the core.

He was hammering into her without abandon now. He let go of her hair in favor of capturing her wrists and pinning them behind her back, forcing her head and shoulders to the mattress and her hips high in the air. He was pleased with her flexibility; he'd have to investigate that in more detail later – he had several positions in mind. Her face was turned to the side, her eyes squeezed closed and her lips parted.

_He decided he liked her upper lip_: it was in perfect proportion to her bottom lip (which he also liked, actually) and the rest of her face (which he found pleasing as well), and was shaped in the classic envied bow that every woman coveted. He imagined those lips against his, running over his body, wrapped around his cock…there were so many uses for such flawless lips, he thought.

He loved her pussy; it fit around him like a glove, welcoming his dick when he shoved it inside of her, tightening down on him when he drew back. The smooth slide of his cock into her cunt and the resounding slap of skin on skin were incredibly erotic. She was impossibly slick, her warm fluids from her previous orgasms and her current state of arousal running down from where they were joined to coat his member, facilitating the glide of his penis into her aching womanhood.

He felt his orgasm fast approaching, the familiar tightening in his loins an indication of his inevitable climax. He tightened his grip on her wrists, no doubt bruising or even spraining them, and brought his free hand around to the front of her pelvis, expertly vibrating his index finger against her sensitive bud.

He relished in the noises she was making; the pitiful little hiccups that escaped with each of his thrusts turned into a loud keen when he started to slam into her with in-human speed. He increased the pressure of his finger on her clit and pounded her into oblivion, knowing she was close to her impending orgasm by the way her body trembled and writhed underneath him.

"Oh, _fuck_, Kol, oh _FUCK –"_

She screamed his name as her orgasm crashed through her, faster and stronger than ever before. Her walls fluttered spastically around his thick length. He pulled her torso up and placed her hands on the headboard, one hand covering hers while his other arm wrapped around her waist, stabilizing her, giving him the optimum angle and leverage to hit the sensitive spot deep inside her core, intensifying her climax, reveling in the juices that gushed out onto his thighs. Gods above, she smelled tantalizing.

"That's it," he growled, eyes darkening and fangs extending. He could hear the pounding of her heart, could see the pulsing of her artery; the blood coursing through her supple body called to him, the smell of it mouth-watering. She yelped as, nuzzling her head to the side, he bit her for the second time, sinking his fangs deep into her jugular as his hips continued to piston against hers, driving his cock deep into her slick core.

Her blood was sweetened by her orgasm, and, when she moaned encouragingly and placed a hand on his head, astounding him, he finally let himself fall apart, no longer able to hold it in. He exploded inside of her, his seed spurting forcefully into her snug channel. His eyes closed and he growled into her neck as he drank noisily, slurping at her life essence, groaning at the taste. Ambrosia. The coppery somewhat salty liquid, made slightly sweet with her release, ran smoothly down his throat as he sucked it down in long pulls.

He reined the bloodlust in when her heartbeat slowed dramatically, fighting to tear his mouth away from her neck. Her small hand was still buried in his hair, disallowing any movement from her neck. He licked at the mess he'd created, lapping up blood that leaked from the nasty puncture wounds marring her lovely neck. He had not been neat – her fluffy white comforter, dotted with delicate lavender flowers, was now covered with bloodstains; her pillows and the wall above her headboard were riddled with bright red spatters. Trails of crimson ran in rivulets down her body and dripped from his chin and neck. Some of her hair had gotten caught in the crossfire, so to speak, and the long tendrils were sticky with blood.

Her lithe body trembled – or maybe it was his, he couldn't be sure. He sighed against her neck, sated. One hand still covered hers on the rail of her headboard; the other was pressed flat against her stomach just above her belly button. Her skin was warm against his palm. She was so…_human._ So fragile; so easily broken – he could snap her like a twig. And yet he felt no disgust, no disdain.

She was more than just one of his witches, now; she was _Bonnie,_ Bonnie Bennett, and she was special, better than the others. He had claimed her, and she had let him. She was his – whether she knew it or not.

He slowly loosened his hold on her, his softened member slipping from her folds as he pulled away from her luscious body to flop down next to her on the bed. He missed her warmth already. He sighed, utterly satisfied. A sense of peace engulfed him; one that he had not felt in ages.

He'd made her come three times. He shrugged; not bad – he could live with that.

Next time, when his self-control returned and his hunger for her wasn't so intense, he would make it seven.

If he were a different man he would have perhaps been more concerned with her reaction; as it was, he just watched her in silence, curious. She remained kneeling, her hands clutching the headboard with white knuckles. Kol's eyes flickered down to stare at the juices that flooded out from between her thighs and ran down her legs. Her heartbeat was slowing and the hazy film of desire that had settled over her unusual eyes was starting to fade. She was striking.

She was magnificent.

"_Fucking_ hell."

He hummed in amusement, absentmindedly lifting a hand to ghost it down the side that was facing him, trailing it from her breast down to her hip. The light touch had her shivering and coming back to her senses, and she slowly lowered herself down onto her back. He grinned when she didn't even bother to right herself: just leaned backward so her head rested down at the footboard of her bed.

_He decided he liked her feet._ They were small – tiny, in fact – and had a high arch; little fairy feet. Her toes were petite and painted scarlet – a shade that almost matched the bloody red that covered her body. They were attached to well-turned ankles (he remembered the term from his youth, when all that was visible of a woman's body was her ankles) and shapely calves that ran up to the thighs and buttocks he was now familiar with.

"Oh, God," she groaned, her eyes closing and her hands coming up to press against her temples. "Holy _fucking_ God." She seemed at a loss for words, intelligent thought failing her for once.

"No, just me, darling," he drawled amusedly, wrapping a hand around her foot and rubbing her instep with his thumb. "Although if you think I'm a god, I certainly won't object," he teased gently.

"Fuck you, Kol."

He snorted. It was said tiredly and without malice; simply a front to maintain a semblance of normalcy after this afternoon's events.

The sun had begun to set through the window, casting her in shades of gold and pink. Holy hell: she was glorious.

_He decided he liked her._

"I believe you already did, darling."

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**Yes? No? Maybe so? Thanks for reading! **


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